Two hours later Naomi finds you in a consultation room with a coffee you have forgotten to drink.
“The baby’s going to make it,” she says first, because she knows enough about you to begin with the detonator. “Severe dehydration, some malnutrition, mild infection, but stable now.”
You exhale for what feels like the first time since the highway.
“And Addie?”
“Exhausted. Undernourished. Old injuries, newer injuries. Defensive as a cornered cat.” Naomi folds her arms. “She asked twice whether the security cameras here can be hacked.”
You stare at the floor. “Jesus.”
“She also asked whether people can buy children back once the government has them.”
That one lands differently.
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